We decide that we want our wedding to be small, quiet and low-key, with a minimum of fuss. Yes, I know that it is pretty unlikely that's what we'll end up with, but that's what we're aiming for. Neither of us want a whole lot of fuss and Kensi has seen too many of her friends turn into bridezillas and just about go crazy, stressing over all the arrangements and demanding that everything has to be completely perfect. That's not our style, and quite frankly we just don't need any more stress in our lives right now. So we'll make the plans, and then we'll make some excuse and gather our friends and family together to help us celebrate.
Family in this case consists of two people. First off, there is Kensi's mother, Julia. They've got a strange sort of relationship: loving in a whole lot of ways, but strained and uneasy in others. Both of them have so much guilt about the past and neither of them has ever managed to get past that or the missing years. They both try, but there is still too much between them , and too much lost time that can never be reclaimed for them ever to be really close, like most mothers and daughers. I know Kensi feels bad about that and I'm guessing Julia feels even worse. As for me, well everyone knows that my father died a long time, and I don't talk about my mother. I've got a couple of uncles who tend to cause chaos wherever they go, so it's safe to say they're not going to be on the wedding list. So that just leaves Hetty to represent the groom's side of the family. So she's not a blood relative? So what. She's my next of kin, and that's good enough for me. Sometimes friends are the family we choose for ourselves, and we both lucked out there.
After some discussion, we decided that if we want to live long enough to consummate the marriage, we'd better tell Hetty and Julia. They would probably be really hurt if we don't let them in on our plans, but that's it. We're not telling anybody else. It just seems better that way. And with any luck, Hetty and Julia might even help us make some of the arrangements, because we're both pretty clueless about weddings. Neither of them knows we are trying for a baby, of course, far less that we have been trying to make a baby for nearly a year. Nobody knows. I suppose some people might suspect, but so far nobody has been tactless enough to say anything. So far. I'm not sure how much longer our luck will hold out on that front. And I'm even less sure how we'll deal with the inevitable tactless remark. But who mentions brides and babies in the same sentence anyway?
"I want to get married outside," Kensi declares. "Not cooped up in a church."
"That sounds good to me." Actually, that sounds great. We could fly out to somewhere like Hawaii and get married on the beach. Perfect.
"But not on the beach," she continues. "We're not getting married on a beach. Any beach. And don't even bother to deny that is what you were thinking of."
Okay, I won't then. "Why not the beach?" What's wrong with the beach? I could make this really cool entrance, coming zooming in on a surfboard and then peeling off my wetsuit to reveal a tuxedo, just like James Bond. Come on, it's not only women who dream about their ideal wedding.
"One word Deeks: sand. Beaches have sand. And sand gets everywhere. And then there's the sea."
That's two words, isn't it? Sand and sea? Still, it's probably safer not to mention that small arithmetical oversight. "What's wrong with the sea?"
"I'm not having my wedding dress ruined by sea water when some rogue wave crashes over us."
She makes it sound like we're going to get hit by some tsunami or something.
"Why are you so worried about the dress? It's not like you're going to wear it again."
Do you know, it's always been a complete mystery to me why women spend so much time, energy and money on a dress they're only going to wear for a few hours. What's the point? Only I've seen Kensi gazing at enough bridal websites with a dreamy expression on her face to know that there is no way I can say all that and still hope to be in any fit shape to dance at our wedding. Two broken legs tend to hamper your style.
"Don't be so sure about that." I really don't like that smile on her face.
"You're planning to trade me in for already? We're not even married yet and already you've got your eye on somebody younger and cuter, haven't you?"
"Just quit while you're ahead, okay Deeks? We're not getting married on the beach and that's that. I did think I could have a word with my Mom though."
Oh no. I think I know what's coming next. If I'm really cunning, I might be able to deflect her. "So you can go shopping for wedding dresses together?"
Kensi gives me a withering look. "She has a big house. With a big garden."
That's what I thought. I've got to act fast here. "We're not getting married in your Mom's back yard. Or Hetty's back yard. We're not even getting married in our own back yard, okay?" Is that clear enough? No back yard weddings.
"Keep this up and we won't be getting married anywhere. What's wrong with my Mom's garden?"
"Nothing. I just don't want to get married there." Call me superstitious, but Julia doesn't have the greatest matrimonial track record. Not that I can say that, of course, so I rack my brains for something to say that a) isn't insulting and b) sounds plausible. "I want us to get married somewhere special. Unique. So we'll remember it always."
You want the truth? I'd be happy hopping on over to Vegas, going to one of those chapels and then blowing all the money we would have spent on a wedding by hiring the honeymoon suite in the Bellagio. Now, that really would be something to remember. It's just sad that there is no way Kensi would go for that
"That's so sweet." Kensi looks absurdly touched at this apparently romantic declaration and I feel like a complete pig. A deceitful, duplicitous pig at that.
"I'm a sweet guy." Who is far too good at lying for his own safety. One of these days I'm going to get caught out, if I'm not careful. Oink oink.
"I know. And I trust you to find us exactly the right place. Somewhere special." She gives me an adoring smile.
"What?"
This is what they call getting hoist by your own petard, isn't it? (Question: what is a petard and is it as painful as it sounds?) How come I've managed to talk myself into finding somewhere 'special' to get married? What do I know about getting married? I'm a man, for crying out loud. We're just supposed to turn up on the big day and do as we're told.
"I trust you." She actually pats me on the arm. "You'll find the right place: romantic, secluded – completely special. Won't you?"
I've got a sneaking suspicion I'm being played at my own game. "Like you said, baby girl- you can trust me." I'm going to need so much help here. What do I know about wedding venues? What do I know about weddings, when it comes right down to it? "Only - I think this is something we should do together. Share the experience. After all, this is about us." I put a lot of stress on that last word. I can practically feel a little curly tail starting to grow.
"So you think we should decide on a venue together?"
"Together – of course." I think I've got away with it. Managed to sell it to her. I hope I have.
"Okay. You make up a list of places, and then we'll go and see them together." She smiles brightly, like there is no problem at all. Which there isn't – as long as I can come up with the goods. I'm dead in the water, aren't I? Unless I can think of something…
"You are so transparent, Deeks. I can see straight through you."
That's my girl.
"Napa." It's so obvious, I don't know why I didn't think of it before.
"Leather or Valley?" Kensi asks curiously. It's Monday morning and we're driving in to work. The sun is shining, the Porsche is purring along the freeway and I have just had the best brainwave of my life. I am officially a genius.
"Napa as in Valley, of course."
"What about it?"
"Isn't it just the ideal place to get married? In one of the wineries, I mean. There's that one we went to last summer, the one with the Spanish style stone buildings, and that courtyard with all those arches and balconies. They were getting set up for a wedding and looked incredible. Remember?"
Kensi clasps her hands together, like some little girl and nods. "It looked incredible. So beautiful. You're a genius, Deeks."
"I know," I say modestly. "It just comes naturally." And then I give thanks to that huge great billboard we pass every morning, the one advertising said winery.
"I mean, that is exactly the sort of place a girl just dreams about getting married in." She looks positively rapturous
It is? And since when has Kensi dreamt about weddings? She's not that sort of girl – is she?
"I know, baby girl. So, you like the idea?"
"I love it. We could go up there this weekend, couldn't we? Have a look around."
"We sure could." I haven't seen her this enthusiastic for weeks – possibly months.
"A weekend up in Napa sounds fabulous. Just what we need."
It does sound great. And Kensi is right: we could both do with a break right now. "As long as you're driving, so I can sample as many wines as possible. In the interest of research, of course. It's important to have the right wine for the toast."
"Typical. The one time you actually want me to drive, and it's so you can get drunk."
"Yeah, I'm only marrying you because good drivers are hard to come by. Not that I'm saying you're a good driver, of course." Because then I'd be lying.
"You're not saying I'm not a good driver either, are you?"
"I wouldn't dare. It's more than my life's worth. Not unless you want to be a widow before you're a bride."
Kensi's bad driving is legendary. Her car is usually in the repair shop at least once a month. It's just that she's rather sensitive about it. That's what they call a white lie. Kensi point blank refuses to admit she's a terrible driver, even to herself and she genuinely looks astounded every time Callen refuses to get into the car with her.
"So I'll wait till after the wedding before I kill you. That way I'll get the Porsche too." She takes hold of my hand and squeezes it. "This is going to be fun, isn't it?"
Actually, I think it is. For some reason, known only to myself, I raise her hand up to my lips and kiss it. Sometimes I surprise myself with how romantic I can be. "It's going to be amazing."
"Absolutely. Do you know, I was sure you were going to suggest we got married in Vegas."
"Come on. Give me credit for a little taste. Who gets married in Vegas?" It's a good thing I never mentioned my idea about staying in the Bellagio, isn't it?
"Britney Spears?"
"That's not exactly a recommendation, is it?"
"Exactly. Which is why I was so relieved you didn't suggest it."
That makes two of us, princess.
Anyway, what with one thing and another, we're both in a pretty good mood when we walk into the bullpen, to find Callen pacing up and down, like one of these bears that's been kept in too small an enclosure at the zoo.
"Couldn't you be on time for once?" he snaps.
Clearly some balloon has gone up somewhere and Callen is paying the price. He looks like death warmed up. Come to think about it, Callen's been kind of off his game for a couple of weeks now. Maybe he's ill? He doesn't look too good, that's for sure.
"We're actually early," Kensi points out. "And 'good morning' to you too, by the way."
"Is everything okay?" I look around and notice Nell is hovering anxiously on the sidelines, but there's no sign of Sam. "It's Sam, isn't it? Something's happened to Sam?"
"Nothing has happened to Sam," Callen says shortly. "He's just out getting us coffee."
Nell comes over to join us. "Why would you think something's happened to Sam?" she asks curiously.
"Because Callen's acting hinky."
"Are you okay, Nell? You look a little peaky." Kensi has seen the look on Callen's face at my use of the word 'hinky' and leaps in before he can say anything. He's on a short fuse this morning, and no mistake. And Nell looks like she's coming down with the flu. But things can't be that bad if Sam's out on a coffee run, can they? I can feel the pleasure of our plans for the weekend start to seep away.
"I'm fine," Nell says, in a wholly unconvincing voice.
The perky, 'ready for anything' persona is noticeable by its absence. Maybe she's got what Callen's got? Maybe they've both got some highly contagious disease and we're all going to be stuck here in quarantine? I can see our plans for a romantic weekend touring the Napa wineries slipping away before I realise it can't be that, because they've let Sam go out. So it has to be something else.
"Okay - what did we miss? Is Vance paying us a surprise visit or something?" I can't think of anything else that would cause quite so much doom and gloom.
"It's nothing like that," Callen says brusquely. "Just wait until Sam gets back."
"Patience is a virtue won by patience," Kensi says sagely, and it's a good thing Sam's not here with the coffee, or I definitely would have choked at that. "And don't look at me like that, Deeks. I didn't say I was patient, did I?"
"Just as well." I try not to drum my fingers on the desk. "Sam's taking an awful log time with the coffee."
"You should see him on Christmas Eve," Kensi confides to Nell. "He sits there, beside the tree and looks longingly at all the presents."
"That's because you don't let me even shake them." Far less squeeze them. Last year I had to squeeze Kensi instead, which was actually my favourite part of the whole holiday.
"That's because you just want to ruin the surprise. And who's not being patient now?"
I hate surprises. And I hate waiting for a surprise even more. It all generally turns out to be a complete anti-climax in my experience. Like when that present that looked so promising underneath the tree turns out to be a six pack of jockey shorts in the wrong size. Working on that premise, we're probably all waiting to hear that due to budgetary cutbacks we're not allowed to order blue pens any more, or that all paperclips have to be recycled at least four times. I'm just about to crack, when Sam finally comes sauntering back in.
"Did you go all the way to Brazil for the beans?" Callen asks him, before grabbing a double espresso and knocking it back in one gulp. Strange. Callen normally just has a filter coffee, with cream and two sugars. Maybe he's been diagnosed with diabetes? That could explain everything. Apart from the fact he's now shoving a donut down his neck.
"There was a queue." Sam hands round the coffees (including a herbal tea for Nell) and then settles himself comfortably at his desk. "Come on then. Tell us."
"We're just waiting for Eric." Nell fires off a text and then looks anxiously up at the balcony, until her partner in keyboards comes running down the stairs.
What did she say? 'We're waiting for Eric'? WE are waiting for Eric? We, as in plural – as in Nell and Callen? I'm beginning to get a bad feeling about this.
"What about Hetty?" Kensi asks.
"She already knows." Whatever the news is, Callen doesn't look happy. He has this fixed expression on his face, like it's been carved out of stone. "This was her idea. She said we should tell you all at the same time."
"Do like the lady says and tell us already." Sam's had enough and I don't blame him. I would have said pretty much the same thing myself, only Sam can actually get away with it.
Callen sucks in a deep breath. "Nell and I got married this weekend. We went to Vegas and we got married."
So now we know what sort of people sneak off to get married in Vegas – our team mates. Nell and Callen. Callen and Nell. Since when was there a Callen and Nell? If anything, I always thought it would be Nell and Eric. Which shows you what I know.
There is a horrible silence, part horror, part shock, that greets Callen's bombshell. We're all wracking our brains for the right thing to say. I have to chomp down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself blurting out 'WTF?' Only I wouldn't be using initials.
"You got married?" Sam says faintly. "To Nell?"
I couldn't have put it better myself. Is it completely unfeeling of me to be pleased that Sam had no idea either?
His partner just ignores him and reaches out to take Nell's hand. She has the strangest look on her face, one that I just can't read at all. "And there's something else you should know: we're going to have a baby."
If the silence was strained before, it's a hundred times worse now. Sam looks poleaxed, Eric looks as if he might burst into tears, and Kensi… I find that I can't even begin to look at Kensi. As for me, I just concentrate very hard on looking at my shoes.
"Congratulations." Kensi leaps into the breach after a couple of seconds. "That's wonderful news. I'm so happy for you both. And a baby. How lovely. Just lovely."
She does a great job. She even sounds genuinely happy for them. Nobody would guess that her heart is breaking. Nobody except me, because mine just shattered into a thousand pieces, right alongside hers. I always knew she was brave, I just never knew how brave she could be. That spurs me into action.
"Fantastic. You're a lucky man, Callen. You take good care of Nell, do you hear?"
I shake his hand, and then give Nell a hug, and they both start to relax a bit. Sam shakes himself out of his trance and Eric pulls himself together. And the not-so-happy couple? Well, now that they've told us the news, they just can't keep their hands off each other. After a while, they even start laughing and joking, telling us all about how they never thought they'd be able to keep their relationship a secret for so long. The stress just disappears from both of them and you can almost feel the joy radiating outwards. And that makes it even harder to bear. Kensi is just a little bit too happy for them, she's every so slightly too loud and too exuberant, but nobody else notices. We're careful not to look at each other. Just one look and we could fall apart. And that wouldn't be fair. This is Callen and Nell's big moment and we mustn't spoil it. They deserve to be happy.
"It wasn't exactly planned," I hear Nell confessing to Kensi. "In fact, it wasn't planned at all. But we love each other."
"That's all that matters," Kensi says, so sweetly that it would break your heart. "Your baby is going to be very lucky to have you as parents."
It's not fair.
I'm happy for them – I don't grudge them their happiness for one second, but it's not fair.
It's just not fair that they are having this baby so easily.
Callen and Nell look so damned happy. Is it so very much to ask that Kensi and I could be that happy too? Apparently it is. All the excitement about our own wedding plans has just flown out of the window and crashed onto the ground, smashing into smithereens.
"Isn't it wonderful news, Marty?" To a casual observer it might look like Kensi's eyes are sparkling with joy. I know better.
"The best." I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close. "Just the best news ever."
And I mean it. Almost. The only better news would be when we finally discover we're going to have our own baby. If we ever have our own baby. I'm beginning to think that just isn't going to happen.
It's like Kensi can read my mind. "One day," she whispers, her mouth pressed close to my ear.
"One day," I repeat.
If I keep repeating that, I might even start to believe it. One day. But not today. I'm not a superhero, I'm just a guy who loves a girl and who can't manage to make a baby, no matter how much he tries. And it just hurts.
It's not fair.